


Looking At You Makes Me Burn

by oneforyourfire



Series: Suho Birthday Sextravaganza [5]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 03:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10912965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: This early in the morning, with the coffee bubbling in their coffee pot, the condensation beading on their plate of toast and fruit—the strawberries they’d spent too long deliberating over at the fruit ahjussi’s stand—Joonmyun is presented with a choice.  (aka subaek get frisky in the kitchen au)





	Looking At You Makes Me Burn

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: more frottage
> 
>  
> 
> [hug hug hug meeeeee~](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNkinODwdqk)

Baekhyun is gratifyingly quiet and soft in the early morning, quiet and soft as he ever gets. Languid and slow-blinking and breathy and curled around him vice-tight, too, he rouses just the slightest—protesting just the slightest when Joonmyun pulls away, but he melts into the sheets again immediately afterwards in a warm heap of blankets, soft, snuffling, sleepy sounds as he burrows deeper. Joonmyun sifts his fingers through the soft, dark, hair peeking through the plaid cotton of their comforter, then over his eyebrow, the flutter of his eyelid, the furrow between his brows before extricating himself from their bed. 

Baekhyun is quiet, soft, warm, sleepy, too, when he shuffles into their kitchen nearly half an hour later, as Joonmyun prepares breakfast, smelling of their laundry detergent, cherry blossom shampoo, sensitive skin body wash as he presses his forehead to the base of Joonmyun’s skull.

His greeting—quiet, soft, fond—rumbles against the nape of Joonmyun’s neck as his fingers skitter along Joonmyun’s middle, skipping over sleep-rumpled cotton.

Joonmyun sets down the toast he’s buttering, breathing a quiet “good morning beautiful” that has Baekhyun pressing a small, sleepy smile to his neck.

Joonmyun shivers at the fleeting wet warmth of Baekhyun’s mouth, watches his hands as they glide down his body.

They’re pretty and strong and nimble and familiar and teasing as they wrinkle the cotton near his stomach, more intentional. His breath is minty, feels cool as his lips part, teeth graze. Another shiver crawls up Joonmyun’s spine.

This early in the morning, with the coffee bubbling in their coffee pot, the condensation beading on their plate of toast and fruit—the strawberries they’d spent too long deliberating over at the fruit ahjussi’s stand—Joonmyun is presented with a choice. Baekhyun, too.

And neither of them have ever been that good at denying themselves.

Joonmyun pushes their plate further on the counter, safe. 

“Hate waking up without you,” Baekhyun confesses, and his nose exhales warm and wet against Joonmyun’s scalp. And Joonmyun loves the sweetness of Baekhyun’s breath, the possession of it, too. This shiver is heavier or maybe more aroused or maybe more wanton or maybe more real. His head tilts back into the pressure, and Baekhyun drags his fingernails over the waistband of Joonmyun’s sleep pants, teases just beneath.

The elastic stings as it snaps against his goosebumped skin.

“Miss you when you’re not there.” 

And those pretty, strong, familiar, teasing fingers tiptoe over his crotch, lazy and meandering as Joonmyun fists the edge of their granite counter, Baekhyun grinds his own cock—still mostly soft—absently against Joonmyun's ass.

They both hiss. Both shudder. Both choose.

Baekhyun's soft kissing blooms into something hard and sharp and wet and hot, a curling tongue, a cutting bite, a bitten off curse. 

He’s less soft now, hips even more insistent, fingers, too, sliding beneath his boxers, _stroking_ —lazy, languid, hot, hot, hot. And Joonmyun’s head crashes against his own sternum. He groans as he watches, arches his spine to rock back against Baekhyun’s cock, too, hisses as Baekhyun’s fingers curl tighter, fist twisting, thumb circling just _so_. For Joonmyun, for show, pretty, performative, perfect, perfect, perfect. 

“You’re gonna come all over our counter,” Baekhyun rasps, smiling when Joonmyun’s hips jump, breath hitches at the thought. “So careless, hyung.” 

“The neighbors can probably see,” he counters—though they live on the fourth floor, are facing a brick wall, a small stretch of alley frequented mostly by drunken bar patrons on the weekends. Baekhyun’s hips jump, breath hitches just the same, though, and Joonmyun quells a full-bodied shudder as Baekhyun’s fingernail _drags_ , a skimming, too, too sharp caress. Pleasure zips up his spine. “They know that you’re so desperate can’t even wait for breakfast.” A pause, a bite, a too-breathy moan. “Know how much you always want my cock.” 

Baekhyun’s fingers become slightly sloppier, his teeth sharper, and Joonmyun’s hand twist back to tangle in his hair. 

“Only you, hyung.” Cheap flattery, but too raw and too low to be insincere. 

Joonmyun laughs—a broken, breathy sound, drags his fingernails down Baekhyun’s scalp, anchors on his shoulder, squeezes, and Baekhyun’s grinds against his ass more forcefully, quickens his stroke, _bites_. Clumsy, hard, hot, hot, hot. The force has Joonmyun tipping forward, hands scrambling along the granite countertop, clinking over the plates, the mugs he’d set out, has Baekhyun following him down, draping himself across his body, still, still still stroking. 

Joonmyun’s head twists to the side with a pant, and Baekhyun’s mouth stumbles over his jawline, his throat. 

“So greedy for your hyung,” he laughs again, more broken, more breathy, and his hand stumbles lower, over his side, his stomach, settling on his cock. The angle is awkward, his touch clumsy, but Baekhyun jumps into the touch with a hissed _yes_. 

“Hate waking up without you,” he repeats. “Hate when I’m not touching you.” 

Joonmyun hates it, too. Wants to fuck that sharp, pretty, pretty mouth, his pretty thighs, too, pretty ass, wants to have him begging and arching and whining and panting and clawing and biting for more, but he also wants to hold his hand, deliberate over strawberries at the fruit ahjussi’s stand, wants to make him breakfast, lunch, dinner, smell him on his sheets and pillowcase, in his sweaters, shirts, wants to share body wash and shampoo and his bed and food and life with him. He is helplessly greedy for all that Baekhyun has to offer, all that Joonmyun is allowed to take, moaning low in his throat for Baekhyun to keep going, come on. If he loves touching him so much. 

Baekhyun rises so easily to the bait. Rutting, jerking, panting helplessly, mindlessly, desperately. 

And even pinned to the counter, his cock trapped between the cool granite, Baekhyun's warm, eager fingers, even pinned by his cock, searing at the heat of his breath, the sharp cut of his teeth, the low timbre of his moans, even with his face rubbing raw on the cool material, even lost in the heat and the lust and the filthiness of this, there’s something about the way that sunlight filters in through their curtains they’d picked out Ikea, something about the smooth slide of a golden band against the underside of his cock, something about the familiar rumble of Baekhyun's moan in his ear, something about this kitchen—their kitchen. 

It undercuts the crude desperation of this, makes it romantic or beautiful or just exactly what he wants first thing in the morning with the man he loves. 

And orgasm steals over him, swift and hard and utterly debilitating. His teeth knock against counter as he gasps and shudders with the intensity. And Baekhyun gasps and shudders, too, tugs down his pants, his own clumsily as he moans about needing—good just _needing_. 

It's heavier, hotter without any barriers between them, and he whines into his throat now, selfish now, purely for his own pleasure now. And Baekhyun, he isn’t soft, isn’t quiet now. He’s hard, loud, loud, loud, gasping breathily against Joonmyun’s back as he strokes himself faster, faster, faster, sloppier, sloppier, sloppier, seizes sharply and moans moans moans before painting Joonmyun’s back in stripes of white.

**Author's Note:**

> 5/11
> 
> "bread" (don't ask???)


End file.
